


Can't Sleep

by soupalu



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Exhaustion, Family Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Light Angst, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28918257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupalu/pseuds/soupalu
Summary: In conclusion, Tommy… felt really, really weird. Half of his body felt like mush and the other felt like he'd ran a marathon. And it started to freak him out the longer it went on.And normally, he would never admit to needing help. Too stubborn, always wanting to prove he can do everything on his own. Determined to represent himself as the biggest man to ever walk the earth, swooning women left and right.But right now he felt anything but normal, and with a heavy, shaking body, he pushed himself off his bed.=or, we are in a family dynamic irl fic drought and I will bring the water BACK
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 666





	Can't Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello! this is my first fic, i made this because the smp has completely BROKEN me and I need some family bonding ;;;
> 
> AND THIS IS NOT A SHIP FIC, PLEASE DO NOT COME HERE LOOKING FOR THAT!!!
> 
> (also if I need to tag anything else, please let me know! otherwise I think I did alright?)
> 
> have a good read :]

Tommy always had a fast-paced mind. It showed in his boisterous personality, giving quick, clever quips or long-winded rants towards anyone who dared to challenge him, or constantly catching Wilbur off guard with his random thoughts, 

_"Wilbur, I reckon fish breathe water because they'd take too much air if they all breathed oxygen."_

_A pause, followed by a, "What the fuck are you on about?" by his bewildered brother._

_"Limited oxygen supply. God had to get creative." Wilbur told him to shut up, smothering a laugh._

Fortunately for him, Tommy's massive and amazing brain provided him with creativity for pretty much anything he needed. Which was a lot. Streaming content, editing YouTube videos, roleplaying, film making– he had endless ideas, sometimes having an overflow of said ideas, in fact.

It's what saved his group's ass on the project they'd all forgotten about. They had to shove a week's worth of planning into a single night, needing to write a script to a five minute film– staging, camera shots and all. Luckily Tommy was an expert at bullshitting and making quick, convincing plot lines, so they soon had an entire script with shot angles and screening, through the help of everyone else.

Which is why he was now turning down his street, walking to his house at midnight after a long evening in the public library. A headache throbbed towards the back of his head, steadily getting worse the closer he got to home. As much as he loved indulging in his creative mind, Tommy hated the aftermath of a bullshitting session. It was draining to have his mind running nonstop, churning out ideas by the fly of his own ass.

He finally walked up to his house, wanting nothing but to go sleep in a warm bed, _Jesus, it's cold outside._ Turning the doorknob, he gave the front door a light shove. It always got stiff in the winter. 

A warm house welcomed Tommy, and surprisingly enough to him, the lights were still on in the kitchen and living room.

"Hey, Tommy!" Phil greeted from the kitchen, probably tidying it up, Tommy guessed, as he kicked his wet shoes off near the front door.

"'Ello, Phil. Sorry it took so long to get back, I forgot the bus schedules changed. The last one leaves at ten thirty now." He squinted his eyes at the light. _Fucking hell._ His head really hurt. 

Phil wiped down the last of the pots he washed, pulling out a drawer to store them away. "No worries mate, I got home later as well. As you can tell." He pointedly shut the drawer, laughing.

Tommy wanted to throw a jab at Phil, something with him being home later because he was old and a bitch, but his head throbbed from the effort it took to make up the witty response, so he gave up with a grunt and made a bee-line towards their drug cabinet. His favorite cabinet. It's just really fucking funny to him, for his family to have a cabinet dedicated to drugs.

"You alright?" Phil asked, after hearing Tommy's rummaging through their medicine.

"Do we not have anymore headache drugs?" he asked flatly. His night was about to be awful if he had to sleep through a splitting headache. His arms were trembling from exhaustion as he hung from the cabinet, sighing.

Phil walked over and frowned, reaching in over Tommy's arms to dig through the cabinet himself. "Ibuprofen? Could've sworn we still had a bit left. Techno!" he hollered up the stairs, and Tommy pushed his shoulders against his ears. _Loud, loud, loud._

A door opened. "Yeah?" 

"What happened to the Ibuprofen?" Phil was still shouting, oblivious to Tommy's discomfort. Tommy backed into him, giving a light shove. "Ah, sorry mate. Me yelling probably isn't helping anything." Phil gently patted Tommy's head.

"Wilbur took the last of them!" Techno's response was cut short as he shut his door. 

_Stupid fucking Wilbur._ "What the fuck, he didn't tell anyone?" he mumbled. Tommy closed his eyes, the lights were so bright. Wil usually did this; he'd use the last of something essential, and not bother telling anyone. It annoyed the _shit_ out of him. Tonight was no different, maybe a bit worse with the headache and exhaustion that was really grating onto Tommy's patience.

"Do you want me to have a fatherly conversation with him?" Phil teased, looking through the cabinet once more. They must have _something_ to relieve pain.

"Yeah. Tell him he's a bitch, and that I hate his dumb face and he should buy me more biscuits since he ate the rest of mine. You know, I'm suffering because of him now—" 

"Wait, here we go." Phil took out a bottle above him. "There was some migraine medicine in the way back." 

Tommy turned over to look. "But I don't have a migraine." He's had migraines before. Those were bitches of headaches that he can sense oncoming by distorted static in his vision. He didn't have it now, just a really bad ache from exhaustion.

"I think you can still take it," Phil said, letting go of the medicine as Tommy took it. "Migraines are a type of headache."

"Hmmmm." Tommy looked it over. Fuck it. He didn't want to fight sleep because he was too much of a pussy to take migraine drugs for a headache. "Fine." He fiddled with the safety lock. Phil ruffled his hair.

"Make sure you take water up with you when you go to your room," Phil said, as he started making his way towards the stairs. "Dehydration is a very common factor in headaches."

"Goodnight, old man," Tommy grumbled. He couldn't get the fucking lid open _how the fuck—_

"Ah, you pinch that lid to open it, not push down. Goodnight Tommy!" Phil chided, and the door to his room opened and shut.

Oh. 

The lid clicked open.

Well. 

The headache was no longer an annoying throb, but more of a constant sharp pain in the back of his head, and Tommy was well done with it. 

How many did he normally take again? Two. He'll take two. Two migraine pills. Yeah, that sounds right.

After getting a glass of water, he popped them both in his mouth and swallowed, sighing in relief as he could finally make his way to his bed. 

He turned off the lights and headed upstairs.

  
  


===

  
  


Something was wrong. _Of course something is wrong, TommyInnit can't just "go to bed" after a long day, can he?_

All he could focus on was his heart. Which was currently beating out of his chest like it had to be _somewhere._

_What the fuck. What the fuck. Breathing exercises?_

He tried. His heart remained hammering in his chest. He wasn't having a panic attack. He was completely calm— what the fuck is his heart doing?

Shifting in his bed, he noticed his entire body felt… fuzzy. Like he was stuffed entirely with static and cotton.

It wasn't enough to block out how pissed he was that it had been _three hours_ since he'd attempted sleeping. With nothing in return. Nothing except a hammering heart, tingly limbs (he couldn't stop shaking his legs, _please stop, just relax, jesus christ)_ , his eyes felt like there were weights under them, and his head— oh god, his head. It didn't hurt. But it felt like it was floating ten feet above himself.

And his thoughts were running in circles, seemingly thinking of everything at once.

In conclusion, Tommy… felt really, really weird. Half of his body felt like mush and the other felt like he'd ran a marathon. And it started to freak him out the longer it went on. 

And normally, he would never admit to needing help. Too stubborn, always wanting to prove he can do everything on his own. Determined to represent himself as the biggest man to ever walk the earth, swooning women left and right.

But right now he felt anything but normal, and with a heavy, shaking body, he pushed himself off his bed.

And everything got _so much weirder._

"Woahh," Tommy mumbled, as he swayed on his legs, attempting to make a step forwards. His balance was all over the place, and his head felt like it was going to hit the ceiling.

But his hands didn't hit anything when he reached up to touch it.

Tommy found this very amusing for no reason and laughed, making it harder to walk straight, which he giggled harder at before promptly running right into his partially opened door with a _thud._

And then his mood immediately shifted back to frustration, because fuck, he just wanted to _rest._ And running into his door really hurt because of his sensitive, cotton-stuffed body. He felt the tell-tale prickling of tears behind his eyes but shoved those away as hard as he could.

God, Tommy felt like complete shit. Was he dying? Yes. This is definitely what it feels like to die. He needed help—

Right. That's what he was doing right now.

Giving his door a shove to vent a bit of his anger, he began stumbling his way into the hallway, feeling four meters tall. 

He was unconsciously headed towards Wilbur's room, as he normally did whenever he was in need of company at night. He didn't knock before opening the door, not really having the mind to care if he was awake or not.

"Wilburrrr," Tommy slurred, dragging his feet to the foot of Wil's bed, collapsing onto his knees as the room started spinning "'M dying."

The scribbling of a pencil stopped, followed by a sigh. "First off, I highly doubt that you're dying," a monotone voice responded. "Secondly, I would think you knew where Wil's room is by now."

Tommy peeked his head up from the bed, seeing Technoblade, in all his glory, sat at his desk with a lamp on. He groaned. "My brain's all wobbly 'n shit." 

"Go to Wil's room for help, I'm busy."

"I'm literally dying." Tommy's heart was still hammering in his chest, a bit more than before due to his little escapade to Techno's room.

"Or go to Phil, he's right across from my room."

"Technoblade, I need help."

Techno paused, hearing the warbled whine of Tommy's voice. It takes a lot for Tommy to admit needing help. Masking his concern with another sigh, he asked, "Is your headache still bothering you?"

Tommy shook his head. "Head feels all stuffy now."

Techno waited for more, but silence fell between them. "I'm gonna need to know more so I can help you, y'know." He got up and walked to Tommy, kneeling beside him. _No fever,_ he thought, as he brushed Tommy’s forehead with the back of his hand.

Tommy groaned. “...My heart’s racing. It’s driving me mad, and I can’t fall asleep.” The prickling behind Tommy’s eyes got stronger. “I’m so fucking tired but my thoughts are all gibberish and I can’t stop fidgeting.” As if to prove his point, he shuffled his socked feet together, the friction distracting him from the threat of tears. Being around someone was helping, though. It beat lying alone in a dark room with himself as his mind ran circles, and his body didn’t feel as cottony anymore.

“No no no, you’re not having an exhaustion break-down in my room, I’m not equipped to handle that right now." Techno's tone had that lilt it did when he was teasing. He rubbed circular motions into Tommy’s back, but it didn’t do much to relieve the tension in his younger brother’s shoulders.

Tommy glanced up at him, tears barely brimming his eyes. His exhausted body felt overwhelmed in every nerve. “I am going to die.”

Techno suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the teen's dramatics. “Okay, let’s just _try_ to figure something out… maybe you’re just too tired. I’ve hit that point before. Stayed up too late doing homework, overexerted myself to the point I couldn’t sleep—”

“Do not suggest that, I will literally start crying.” Tommy pushed Techno’s hand away from him. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of,” he mumbled, “being too tired to sleep.” God he didn't want to entertain that thought, it only drove him more frustrated and closer to the tears slipping and _he was not planning on crying tonight._

“It’s true, it happens!” Techno’s voice held exasperation. Tommy completely turned away from him. “Dude, I’m trying to help you— uhm, did you watch anything exciting before bed? Do anything that’ll get the heart pumping?”

“No. I had a headache, dumbass. I took medicine, grabbed a glass of water at Phil’s request, and went to sleep.” Tommy huffed, bringing his shaking limbs closer to himself. “Tried to, more like.” 

“Wait, medicine? We’re out of Ibuprofen though, what did you take?”

“Migraine medicine, bitch.”

Techno blanked. “Migraine–? Tommy, you know those have caffeine in them.”

Tommy spun around to give an accusatory glare, a bit too quickly as it gave him a spell of dizziness. “...O-of course I do! Who doesn’t know? But surely it’s not enough to affect anyone, really, and I only took two—”

_“You took two?!”_ Techno gaped. “That’s, like, the equivalent of drinking a cup of coffee before bed!” 

Tommy's face screwed up a bit, and he pushed it down into his arms again. "Shut up, man. I had a bad fuckin' headache, Phil said I could take it." He was well embarrassed now, the feeling slowly unraveling in his mush-brain like another blanket. Now this whole thing was his fault, and he'd bothered Techno because of his own stupidity.

Techno didn't pick up on his humiliation. "Dude it's like, basic take-care-of-yourself knowledge to read the drug labels before you take it,” he laughed. “You kinda brought this upon yourself.”

“I told you, my head’s all wobbly,” Tommy gritted out. Tears started slipping out, and he dug his nails into his arms with frustration. 

Silence fell between the two. Tommy let his heavy eyes shut, knowing that he was too wound up now to even think of sleep. "This is why I go to Wilbur for help," he mumbled, tasting the salt from the tears dampening his arms.

A short sound of fabric rustling. "Huh?"

Tommy groaned. "Huh?" he mocked. "Yeah, no, I didn't ask to be made fun of when I feel like complete shit right now. Wilbur wouldn’t mock me for forgetting to read a stupid drug label." He began to stand up, turning away from Techno so he didn't see his wet face. But he got a head rush, and his balance was already way off—

"Woah, woah." Techno quickly jumped up to grab Tommy's torso. Tommy attempted struggling against his grasp to no avail. “Stop that, I’m sitting you on my bed.” As he did, Techno caught sight of the fresh tear marks on Tommy’s face, whose head was hung to keep them hidden.

Ah, yes, what a classic big brother move. Make your younger sibling cry when he comes into your room looking for help. Techno grimaced to himself, feeling guilt begin to drip into the back of his mind.

“Let me go to Wilbur.”

“No, Tommy, you need to lie down.” Techno tried to lightly push Tommy into laying down. Tommy whined and batted at his arm. Techno pushed down harder, and Tommy gave into it, flopping onto the pillow, turning away from Techno once again. 

Techno sighed. “I shouldn’t have picked on you when you came in for help. I’m sorry for being an asshole.” 

“And a dickhead,” Tommy mumbled.

“And a dickhead.” 

Tommy laughed wetly. He gave a soft glare over his shoulder. “Seriously, what was up with that? You made me feel like shit.”

Techno didn’t meet his eyes, holding a guilty silence. He picked at a loose stitch in the blanket. “Well, to be fair I tried to help you in the beginning, but you got upset at me," he rushed, as Tommy looked away to glare at the wall. "But I dunno, I thought you were being dramatic. You do that a lot. You literally said you were dying.” That earned a more sincere laugh from his brother. “Alright.” Techno draped the covers over Tommy. “Enough sap. What do you need?”

He paused. “What?”

“Let me help you now. What do you need?”

Tommy shuffled, suddenly shy from the direct attention. “Well, I mean, I don’t feel as bad anymore. My chest doesn’t feel like it’s gonna explode. Still feel kinda weird in general, though.” He paused. “I’m tired.”

Techno smiled. “Yeah, crying and having a fight with a sibling will do that. The caffeine’s probably wearing off by now, sleep should come.” 

Tommy nodded, feeling _actually_ sleepy for the first time since he took the medicine, not just an overwhelming exhaustion. 

Techno looked at the clock near his bedside. “Oh shit, it’s past three in the morning?” He got up, glancing back at Tommy. “I guess I’ve been kicked out of my own room, I’ll have to sleep on our old couch,” he feigned miserably.

“Screw you, you forced me into this bed.” He watched as Techno turned off the lamp on his desk. His grip tightened on the blankets, a longing feeling squeezing in his chest.

“Goodnight, Tommy.” The creak of a doorknob turning was heard.

“'Night…” Tommy trailed off, hesitating. “Techno,” he called, just before he walked out. 

“Yes?”

More hesitating. He pulled the blankets closer to his head. “Would you mind… well, only if you want to, of course, uhm— but, uh, would you mind staying?” _With me,_ went unsaid. “I mean, since you seemed so against sleeping on the couch, I was just thinking—” Tommy quickly covered up his moment of vulnerability, secretly hoping that Techno would see through it.

Techno’s expression was hidden by the dark of the room, and the door clicked shut. “I'd be down." Tommy shuffled to the side to make room as his older brother lowered himself next to him. 

He smiled to himself at the ceiling, in the dark where no one could see. "This is so cool, I'm having a sleepover with _the_ Technoblade—"

"Shut up, you gremlin." Techno violently turned his back towards Tommy, who guffawed in return.

"Excuse you, bitch, I almost died tonight!" He jabbed Techno's back with his elbow. "I suffered from the worst headache!"

"Apparently it wasn't enough because you bounced back pretty quick," Techno deadpanned. 

There was a beat before the both of them broke into smuggled fits of laughter.

"You wanna know what's really funny?" whispered Tommy.

"What?"

"Technically, this is all Wilbur's fault, because he didn't fucking bother to tell Phil he took the last of the Ibuprofen."

"Hah," Techno croaked. "Do you wanna beat him up tomorrow morning?"

"Yeahhh," Tommy whisper-shouted. "Let's fuck him up! He owes me biscuits anyhow."

The brothers shared another laugh, and silence fell between them once more, the both of them steadily falling asleep.

=

"EY PUSSY!" Tommy swung Wilbur's door open.

"....What the fuck do you want from me," Wilbur groaned underneath his covers. "What time is it?"

"It's get-up-o'clock, bitch!" He jerked the shades open, sunlight bursting into the room. "You have some custard creams that you need to get me as an apo-lo-gy!" 

"No. Piss off. I didn't even do anything. Go get it yourself, child." Wilbur was known to be a bit of a grump in the mornings, today was no different.

Grinning deviously, Tommy yanked the covers off of Wil's body, earning him a shout of anger. "You'll be taking back those words when you hear about the painful and miserable night I had because of you," he said, voice filled with false sorrow.

Wilbur sat up, rubbing his face. "What did I do?"

Tommy had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. "You didn't tell anyone you finished off the Ibuprofen, leaving me in agony and pain, forcing me to take migraine drugs— which completely fucked up my brain 'n shit, just to let you know."

"Wh— it fucked up your brain?" Wilbur's eyebrow knit together in concern.

"He just took two migraine pills like an idiot, he couldn't handle the caffeine that came with it," Techno said from the doorway. "And I was the one who had to deal with a disoriented Tommy last night." He looked towards Tommy. "So is Wil gonna get you those biscuits or whatever?"

"No, he's being a grump about it. He told me to piss off," Tommy pouted, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Wilbur shot up as Techno stepped into the room while pushing his sleeves up. "Okay, stop, I was gonna start getting them!" he whined. "You didn't even give me time to respond!"

"Did too," Tommy shot back. "And I expect these to be from the absolute bottom of your heart, because they're apology biscuits and I had a terrible night yesterday." Tommy believed that if you were to pour cold water onto Wilbur in that instant, it would all turn to steam from the anger melting off of him.

"Fuck. Off. I'll get you the wrong biscuits if you keep pissing me off."

Techno quirked an eyebrow. "Phil wouldn't like to hear that. He says apologies should be respectful and meaningful."

Wilbur groaned and picked up his pillow. "Get out, get out, get out!" he yelled, as he hit them out of his room. "I'll get your dumb _custard cream biscuits_ , just leave me alone now!" He shut the door hard in their faces, Tommy and Techno both broke into laughter as they headed downstairs.

And later on, Tommy got his apology biscuits from Wilbur, with a silly apology letter attached to them.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
